‘Although, isn’t it interesting that, in a gulag, there’s never anybody “big boned” or suffering from “water retention”, is there? Isn’t that “food for thought”? I imagine you’re on a starvation diet for that kind of nourishment, Emerald, being married to a mechanic. Intellectual sustenance is the one thing you really should be hungry for. When did you leave school again, Alex?’

Alessandro, who hated being called Alex, bristled, but replied politely, ‘Sixteen. Once I’d wised up to how many graduates were bumming around on the dole and saw the moolah I could make in trade, I reckoned getting an apprenticeship was a no-brainer—’

Ruth cut him off. ‘Yes, no wonder it’s lucrative. A mechanic is just someone who picks your pocket from underneath your car. Still, at least you know that Emerald married you for love. How else would she stand all these years of talking about differential shafts and lubricant.’ Ruth’s fake smile was so intense it could irradiate soft fruit.

‘Lube,’ Alessandro corrected his mother-in-law, through clenched lips. ‘Lube greases the steering system and suspension to keep moving parts that touch from wearing each other down. Maybe I should have brought some today.’

‘So . . . shall we get the barbecue fired up?’ Harry suggested with urgency.

The three brothers-in-law fell on each other with relief. They grinned and slapped each other’s shoulders, then, taking a bucket of prawns and a plate of oysters, retreated to the barbecue at the bottom of the garden for their annual corroboree.

Emerald popped the champagne with alacrity and filled her sisters’ glasses to the brim. Today’s Christmas spirit was clearly going to come from a bottle.

‘Oh, look, the tide’s gone out already,’ she said, refilling her glass with a fizzing whoosh.

The kids fell on the prawns like squawking seagulls then leapt into the pool. Ruth Ryan quite liked her grandchildren – they were still malleable. Talk turned to the kids’ plans for the future, the safest conversational option. It was only during her third champagne top-up that Emerald realised I wasn’t drinking.

‘Why aren’t you drinking?’ she asked, amazed. ‘After the hottest, driest year in history, we’re saving water by drinking alcohol.’

‘I just . . . I just don’t feel like it,’ I prevaricated.

‘Are you sick?’ my mother asked. ‘Actually, you don’t look at all well. Even worse than usual,’ she added, true to her style.

‘Thank you, Mother. I can always count on you to brighten my mood.’

Ruth rummaged in her handbag for a lipstick. ‘And you can brighten mine by putting on a bit of lippy.’

‘Actually, Mum’s right. You do look a bit peaky, Ruby. Are you okay? A friend of mine, Leyla, works as a receptionist at the medical centre, and she told me at book club that she’d seen you there twice this week,’ Amber probed.